


Bad Days

by murdergatsby



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: And I Mean Really Vulnerable, Cuddling, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Hannibal with Mental Exhaustion, Insecure Hannibal, Little Spoon Hannibal Lecter, M/M, Mentioned Mischa Lecter, Vulnerable Hannibal, Will Loves Hannibal, Will is a Good Murder Husband, implied panic attack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-05
Updated: 2016-05-05
Packaged: 2018-06-04 09:40:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6652741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murdergatsby/pseuds/murdergatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hannibal has a very bad mental health day and is absolutely terrified to have Will around.<br/>Will stays with him, regardless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bad Days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MindPalace91](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MindPalace91/gifts).



> Inspired by [this thread](https://twitter.com/teacupsmasher/status/724369442608537603) on twitter.

Will had been awake for a while, nursing an unintentionally chilled cup of coffee. He had added too much creamer and now it just tasted like milk. His eyes were on the clock, and his heel nervously bounced on the floor. He felt as if he were waiting for test results.

Normally, Will took any time he found himself awake before Hannibal as a victory. It wasn’t a position he often found himself in; Hannibal was usually up, dressed, and with a prepared meal before Will was even thinking about being conscious.

This morning was included, when he rose to discover Hannibal’s back still pressed against his arm. He was immediately inspired to make them both coffee and scrambled eggs to tease him with.

He pulled himself from the sheets, ignoring how absolutely inviting the heat from Hannibal’s skin was in comparison to the chill of the room, and extracted one of Hannibal’s sweaters from their closet. He pulled it over his bare chest and did nothing to cover his legs, more than continue to wear the boxer shorts he had worn to bed.

He knew, or rather assumed from past experience, that Hannibal would be quick to follow him into the kitchen. He imagined that he would be melting butter in a pan and Hannibal would come up behind him to take over, one hand wrapped around Will’s waist and a head on his shoulder.

Except, that never happened. Will finished the eggs by himself, plated them by himself, and ruined his own coffee by himself. Not a sound came from their bedroom, and Will started to worry.

Worry consumed him entirely when he saw that the clock read 11:30am.

He had assumed it was still the early break of morning, never needing to check the clock for reassurance. He had never known Hannibal to _sleep in_. The concept itself felt completely alien. Even when they were recovering from their injuries together, Hannibal was always up and moving. He said it contributed to the healing process and tried to get Will to do the same whenever possible. From a mattress, to a couch, to a chair- never really staying conscious but making an effort to spend at least some time in the realm of the living.

And it wasn’t as if Hannibal hadn’t noticed Will’s absence, either. Hannibal was a very fragile sleeper, no matter what the circumstance, and he had _definitely_ rolled away when Will pulled the sheets back on him. He remembered hearing him groan and turn into his pillow when he had gotten up. So, he had to have been awake.

Will kept hoping that he would come out on his own, if he waited. Will kept hoping that he wasn’t going to have to go and check on him on his own. But Hannibal wasn’t coming out, and the worst was all he could think.

Will held on to his mug of coffee as if it gave him some kind of security to do so. He walked down the hall to their room, to where the door was still cracked open the way he had left it. He pressed a hand to it and carefully let it creak forward.

Hannibal was awake and alive, much to Will’s satisfaction. He had propped his head up on their headboard, with his hands crossed above the sheets and over his belly. He didn’t look over at Will when he entered the room and Will could see in his eyes that Hannibal was very much _not_ in the same room as himself.

Will wrapped both of his hands around his mug, rubbing the tips of his fingers over the smooth porcelain. He didn’t speak at first but eventually cracked a quiet and suggestive, “Hey.”

Hannibal’s eyes moved slowly to where Will leaned in the doorway. Then, he smiled as his reality came back to the room.

“Good morning.” He said sweetly. Faked.

“Afternoon.” Will corrected. Will almost felt offended. Will knew all of Hannibal’s tells, even the deeply layered ones, and Hannibal knew this. Hannibal had stopped lying to him about little things long ago and it had made Will feel important.

Until now, when Hannibal was lying about the answer to a question Will had yet to ask.

Will leaned back until he met with the wood of the door, creating the appearance that he was relaxed. “Are you alright?” He asked, looking down at the sand colored coffee in his hands.

Hannibal held his ‘sweet’ smile while Will spoke, and answered with a very straight-forward “Yes.”

Will felt his brows furrow deeply into the center of his forehead. _Yes._ He repeated in his mind. _No deep and elaborate explanation as to why you’re still in bed? No comparison to my own sleeping habits as a means to overshadow this?_

Normally, he would feel inclined to voice these thoughts. Something in the mood of the room restrained him from doing so.

“Are you…sure?” Will asked again. His shoulders hunched up defensively. He’d hadn’t had to pry Hannibal for information in a _very_ long time. The action made him uneasy.  

Hannibal’s smile dropped, maybe under a realization of the mask he was wearing in front of someone who was well aware it was a mask.

“Yes, Will.” He confirmed. “I’m sure.”

Hannibal returned his gaze to the spot on the wall across from him. He swallowed hard. “You burned your eggs.” He said. “Trying cooking them on a lower heat, next time.”

Will wanted to prod at him more, but a sick swirling in his belly made him only nod and retreat back into the hall.

Hannibal was full of his own sickness. His heart felt intoxicated. It sat heavy in his chest and he could feel it move in him with every steady beat. His extremities felt alive- independently so. He tried to tame them and the racing that was happening in his head, but he just couldn’t _get there._

He had experienced days like this before, off and on through his life; days where the perfection crumbled and he felt all too terribly vulnerable. The doors to darkest of his memories flew open, and he couldn’t find the strength to lock them again.

Before, when this happened, he would call and cancel any plans he may have had for the day. Before, he would have his secretary reschedule with patients. Before, he didn’t have Will around, and he could just pretend like this never happened.

He had always held a worry for this day, and this was a particularly bad day. Hannibal’s existence felt raw and sensitive, as if he had been skinned. Will likes to jab. He feared that Will, seeing him in such an messy state of mind, would say something senseless. He feared that, upon Will saying something senseless, that he would do something just as…senseless.  

_God._

He was thankful that Will had left the room when he did. It helped him relax some, but before he could let himself sink back into his memories Will had returned to the room. He held a second cup of coffee, and rested them both on the bedside table closest to where Hannibal was laying.

Hannibal didn’t say a word, but followed him with his eyes.

Will didn’t speak either, and was clearly making an effort to not look at Hannibal as he sat at the edge of the bed. He was incredibly uneasy.

He reached a hand out behind him, blindly, until he felt it rest upon the shape of Hannibal’s thigh through the blankets. He stayed turned away, his head held low between his hunched shoulders.

Hannibal let him stay there a while, jaw clenched as tightly as his fists, before speaking with another falsified, cool tone.

“Will?”

Will closed the hand he had on Hannibal’s thigh, gently squeezing him. Hannibal’s body was so tight underneath him; completely tense and unwelcoming to Will’s touch. He frowned.

“I’m, uh,” Will began. He wasn’t confident and his voice reflected that. Something was clearly wrong with Hannibal, something had happened or something was going to happen, he had _done something._ And for whatever reason Hannibal didn’t want to tell him.

It wasn’t as if Will had never been in this kind of situation before, just not with Hannibal. Hannibal didn’t get closed off like this. Hannibal may avoid giving a straight answer about how he feels, but he always told you how he was feeling if you knew how to listen.

Will scrapped through his memories for a speech he had prepared for another friend, one of the past. It had worked well on him.

“I’m going to sit here until you’re ready to talk.” He said. “You don’t have to say a word until you’re ready, but…I’ll be here when you are.” He paused and turned his body on the bed, pulling his legs off the floor and tucking them under himself. He was facing Hannibal now, sitting back on his heels and holding a weak but honest smile.

“And I’m not leaving until you do.”

Hannibal’s eyes had been hard on Will, judgmental and dark. As he watched him move in the room, his worry and preparation for Will to mock him had turned to full anger; juvenile anger over something he had yet to do, that he had to fight to extinguish. It was taking far too much of him to not leap from bed and bash Will’s head into the wall corner, a thought that gave him an instant feeling relief, followed by a stretching duration of guilt. And he hated feeling guilt.

Guilt sat with him in the foremost part of his chest, closed around his throat, and scratched at the base of his skull. It pulled him down; just the thought of hurting Will weighed on him like a shackle.

Witnessing him like this- being kind, gentle, and hesitant to even speak- was such a dramatic difference from what he was expecting. _It didn’t help with the guilt_ , but it did soften him. Hannibal felt his jaw go slack and his lips part as if he were going to speak, but he didn’t conjure any words.

Will stayed in his position, looking at him and waiting patiently, as he suggested he would.

“And,” Hannibal said, finally feeling ready. The sound of his voice broke the room in a way that almost startled the two of them. “What if I don’t want you to leave?”

Will’s smile grew, and he exhaled a ball of stress he had been holding on to since he noticed Hannibal’s prolonged absence. He was so afraid that he had done something wrong, but if Hannibal wanted him to stay then that couldn’t possibly be the case.

“Then I won’t.” Will confirmed.

Hannibal didn’t smile, but he didn’t revert back to his gloomy and dangerous glare. Will considered it a success.

After a while of sitting in silence, and Will quietly fidgeting into a more comfortable position, Hannibal spoke again.

“Can you…” He started, but immediately found himself without the ability to say the words he wanted to. He disliked that. What he wanted from Will wasn’t something new, he’d requested it before and received it without any hassle. Asking for it now, though, felt entirely too much like defeat. His mind wouldn’t stop cycling over it.

Thankfully, Will caught the request in his tone and didn’t need him to finish it. He moved up on the bed until his head was level with Hannibal’s, then closed up into him. He rested an arm over Hannibal’s chest, and tucked the other behind his back. Hannibal turned away from him so that Will could press his chest to his back, and rest his head in the curve of his neck.

Hannibal was shaking, something Will hadn’t been able to see but could now feel. He pressed against him until the tremors slowed. The experience was nearly leaving him breathless, but he blocked himself from showing any shock he had to Hannibal. He expected that it wouldn’t help the situation.

Again Hannibal allowed the room to return to silence while they spooned together, and again Will stayed. Will pressed kissed into the back of Hannibal’s neck, behind his ear, and up in his hairline. Will wasn’t completely sure if Hannibal wanted it, but he didn’t object or pull away. And Will couldn’t remember a time Hannibal didn’t want his kisses.

The fourth time that Hannibal spoke, it didn’t feel sudden. He had stopped shaking and, even though the two of them had been sitting in silence for what could have been an hour, easily, the words made their way into the atmosphere casually.

“Today is Mischa’s birthday.”

It took a moment to sink in for Will. He processed the words slowly, continuing to nuzzle into Hannibal’s neck as he did so, until he was ready with his reply.

“Happy birthday, Mischa.” Will finally said.

Hannibal’s mouth made a sharp sound, as if he were sobbing. Will leaned over him in time to watch a tear drop from the bridge of his nose.

Hannibal started to open up, talking with Will about how old Mischa would be, about what he would have liked to do with her if she were here. Will asked questions, and Hannibal answered them. The conversation bled into Hannibal’s childhood, which Hannibal spoke of in a completely uncensored way that Will never thought he’d experience- all metaphors and riddles dropped in exchange from quiet sobs as Hannibal pressed kisses into the backs of Will’s hands for reassurance.

It wasn’t the first time Will had seen Hannibal cry, but something about this time was much more impactful; he’d never cried quite like this. Tears would grow in his eyes and roll down his cheeks with a properly timed blink, but this was the kind of crying that made tears appear on the cheeks as if they were leaking through the skin. This was the kind of crying that made Hannibal feel like he couldn’t breathe, making him tip his head back and gasp for air as he tried to talk to Will in uninterrupted sentences. Sometimes, Hannibal’s sobs would enter the realm of laughter, and they would laugh together, but it would always settle back into tears. Hannibal was, by the very definition, a mess.

Will continually brushed his hands through Hannibal’s hair, and rubbed comforting circles into his back. He continued to kiss him, touch him, and hold him until the world outside grew dark. He continued to stay with him like this until Hannibal fell asleep in his arms.

When Hannibal has been asleep for a while, Will joined him under the blankets. He stripped off the sweater and pressed his bare chest against Hannibal’s back. Hannibal felt cold, despite being trapped beneath the blankets all day.

“You have to know.” Will whispered into his ear, once he was situated. “After all we’ve been through, Hannibal, you have to know it’s okay.” He paused to kiss him, then dropped his head into his shoulder, speaking into his skin. “It’s okay to be like this. Just tell me next time, alright?”

Hannibal rolled his shoulder upward, a sign that he was awake and listening. Will sighed.

“Just say, Will? I’m not getting out to bed today.” Will continued, putting on his best Hannibal-voice. “And I’ll stay with you, or I’ll stay away. I’ll make you breakfast. Whatever you want.” He drew his hand lower under the sheets, dragging his fingertips over Hannibal’s waist and stomach. He pulled him in closer, hugging him tightly.

He heard the case on Hannibal’s pillow crease as Hannibal smiled. Will smiled too, feeling touched and blessed by the expression.

“And I won’t burn the eggs.”


End file.
